Getting Away with Murder
by Leigh Adams15
Summary: A murder is committed at a Ministry gala and despite a confession, Ron knows who really did it.


**Title**: Getting Away with Murder (1/1)  
**Author**: Leigh Adams  
**Characters**: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson  
**Rating**: R  
**Word Count**: 2,203  
**Summary**: A murder is committed at a Ministry gala and despite a confession, Ron knows who _really_ did it.  
**Author's Notes**: Oh, I wish that plot bunnies came at convenient times. _Not_ when I'm trying to put together a writing portfolio to submit for my final Communications Elements class. Oh well, _c'est la vie_. This was written for the Clue(do) Ficathon the LiveJournal community Rare Pair Shorts. I hope y'all enjoy this!

* * *

Ron's fingers tapped against the heavy ornate wood of the desk he'd commandeered. He felt out of place in this office, with its plush blue carpet and elegant, refined paintings on the walls. It was much too frou-frou for his tastes, but the gallery's curator- one Astoria Greengrass- had offered it to him for the evening's investigations.

It had been a most disturbing- and _peculiar_- evening. White Chapel Gallery, one of the most renowned art galleries in Europe, had been the host of the Ministry's annual Memorial Gala. Every year on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry and its guests came together for an evening of gaiety and remembrance. It was a way of remembering those who had perished while celebrating those who had survived.

But one person hadn't survived the evening.

Alexander Mason, one of the more senior Aurors on staff, had been found murdered in one of the gallery's many antechambers. One stab wound, straight through his heart, and he'd bled out on the parquet floors within minutes.

It was peculiar that they'd caught the murderer within minutes of the body's discovery. Terrence Higgs, former Death Eater and pureblood fanatic, had confessed. He'd handed them the bloody knife and let them lead him away.

It was a clean, closed case. _Too_ clean, in Ron's professional opinion. That was why he was personally questioning every single guest before they would be allowed out of the ballroom. It was going to take _hours_, and it was a chore Ron did not relish. It had to be done, though.

If his suspicions were correct, he might not need to question _all_ the attendees.

Just one in particular.

Ron glanced up from his notes when a knock sounded at the door. "Enter."

Natalie, his trainee, poked her head in. "Pansy Parkinson for you."

_Blue eyes flashed up at him, dark black hair framed against his pillow as her lips parted for his kiss. Ron could feel the sting of her nails raking down his back, but it only served to fuel his ardor. Harder and harder his hips rolled against hers, pulling breathy sighs and moans from her lips_.

_Bloody brilliant_. "Thank you, McDonald. Send her in."

Steeling himself against the oncoming meeting, Ron rose from his chair as Pansy entered the room. Her floor length emerald green ball gown was perfectly tailored to her lithe form, and her long black hair was pinned to the side in an elegant mess of curls. Her ivory skin was flawless as always, and her ice blue eyes were cold and aloof.

And _Merlin_, was she beautiful.

"Have a seat, Ms. Parkinson," he directed, nodding at the high-backed chair across the desk. As the door shut behind her, Ron took his seat once more. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Because the Ministry, in its eternal wisdom, insists on questioning every guest despite the fact that your killer has already confessed," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Ron ignored her tone and said, "That would be correct. You see, Ms. Parkinson, the circumstances surrounding Terrence Higg's confession were a little too… perfect. Why commit a crime in front of numerous Ministry officials and then immediately confess?"

"Higgs always was a pathetic excuse for a Slytherin," she replied smoothly, lips twitching in the barest hint of a smirk. "Were I you, I would not look a gift horse in the mouth."

That look on her face took him back to earlier times, when her smirk signaled the beginning of a dangerous liaison.

_Her silk robe dropped to the floor, leaving her bare before him. There was a lump in his throat, and try as he might, Ron could not get past it to speak._

_She took a step forward, glancing up at him through her lashes. "What are you waiting for, Ronald?" she murmured breathily, walking two fingers up his chest. "I'm yours."_

_Ron needed no further enticement, and he crushed his lips against hers in a hungry, powerful kiss._

He mentally shook himself out of his reverie, grateful for the desk that hid his lower half from her view. "But I am not you, which is why we're still here." Shuffling some papers, he said, "Ms. Parkinson, do you know who was killed tonight?"

"I can only assume it was one of your fellow Aurors, _Auror Weasley_," Pansy replied, emphasizing his title. Whether or not she meant it as a mockery, Ron did not know.

"It was," he answered, withdrawing a photograph from his files. He pushed it across the desk to her and said, "Alexander Mason. Your parole Auror."

Pansy's blue eyes glanced down at the photograph, but they betrayed nothing. "How unfortunate. I suppose you shall have to assign me another Auror for my monthly inquisition."

"We can deal with that later," Ron answered, reaching beneath the desk to retrieve a clear evidence bag. He dropped it down on the desk with a loud 'thunk,' eyes raking her face for any flinch or reaction.

She gave none.

"Do you recognize this knife?"

Her gaze rolled up to meet his, and she tilted her head to the side and gave him a sweetly sardonic smile. "No. Should I?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Pansy," he snapped, glaring at her. His hands trembled with finely-concealed ire as he stared her down, _willing_ her to confess. "Why did you do it?"

"If you were one to listen to your friends, you would think I don't have to play at being dumb," Pansy remarked icily, meeting his glare with one of her own.

"You're not stupid," he informed her, "and neither am I. Did you think I wouldn't know it was you?"

"Auror Weasley, are you accusing me of _murder_?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

_Ron's breathing was heavy with arousal as he gazed up at her. The sight of her naked body above him, on top of him, made his heart beat faster. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he could feel his pulse jump in his neck when she placed the shape edge of her blade against his skin._

_"Scared, Auror Weasley?" she challenged with a predatory smile, her blue eyes shining with eager anticipation._

_He swallowed and could feel the blade press a little deeper into his skin, drawing a fine trickle of blood._

_The quick sting of pain lanced through his body, melding into pleasure when Pansy slid over him, skin to skin. "No," he rasped._

_Pansy leaned down and pressed her tongue flat against the wound, tasting the sweet copper of Ron's life force. "Good."_

"I am," Ron replied.

Pansy inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, and Ron was supremely satisfied to see the first signs of _any_ emotion cross her perfectly constructed façade. "You have no evidence to support this… _theory_ of yours," she replied sharply.

Ron gave a hollow laugh. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't recognize the same knife you once held to my throat?" he asked incredulously. "You murdered Alexander Mason, and I know it." There was a pang in his chest, right where his heart was. It pained him to say it, but he finished quietly," That's all I need until we can break the charms you cast on Higgs. His testimony will be enough for the Wizengamot."

When he glanced up at his former lover, her blue eyes were cold and calculating. It was enough to make him pause, to wonder what scheme she was planning now, before he continued with his line of thought. "If you confess, I can see that the Ministry gives you the minimum sentence. Fifteen years in Azkaban."

It was Pansy's turn to laugh, and the sound contained a myriad of emotions; humor, desperation, pity, triumph. "I'm not going back to Azkaban."

"Oh?" One red brow rose in surprise. "And why not?"

"For one, all 'evidence' you have is purely speculative," she answered as she leaned in towards him. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, and her tone was smug as she said, "And you're going to let me go."

Ron swallowed hard, dragging his gaze from her chest back up to her face. "You're barking mad, Parkinson."

"Am I?" she mused, studying her manicured fingernails as she let the question hang in the air. After a long, uncomfortable minute of silence, she glanced up at him, lips twitching.

"Tell me, Auror Weasley. How is your wife?"

He felt his blood run cold at the mention of Hermione. His wife… Ron's heart sped up, his breathing growing shallow as he stared into Pansy's eyes. There was no compassion written there, nothing but satisfaction at having the upper hand. She'd played her ace, and it trumped anything Ron might have in his hand.

And she _knew_ it.

"What do you want with Hermione?" he asked, his voice soft but strong. "Parkinson, I swear to Merlin, if you lay one _finger_ on her, I'll-"

Pansy held her hand up, stopping him mid-tirade. "I have no interest in going anywhere near Granger's frizzy coif," she informed him.

"Then what do you want?"

Meeting his gaze, Pansy gave him a small, cold smile. "You're going to let me go," she repeated, adding, "or your wife will find out that you've been shagging me on the side for the past five years."

"You wouldn't."

His heart was about to beat out of his chest, and he could feel a cold sheen of sweat forming at his hairline. Hermione… it had been a mistake to keep carrying on with Pansy. He had been too weak to stop, too weak to tell her that what they had was _wrong_.

He'd loved her once.

Merlin, there was a part of him that _still_ loved her, even as she was blackmailing him into letting her walk away with his colleague's blood on her hands.

"I will," she replied softly, surely.

Ron swallowed nervously. The choice he was about to make would either make his career and break his marriage, or it would hang on his conscience until the day he died. What was worth more, though? Arresting a murderer or keeping Hermione?

He'd made his decision.

"If I agree to your terms," he said, "you must leave the country for a year. I don't care where you go, just leave England for one year. "He glanced up at her, and he'd never felt such conflicting emotions for a person before. Hate and love mingled in his blue eyes, in his veins as he stated the terms of her freedom.

"Six months," Pansy countered smoothly. "And I'm released from all future parole meetings with Ministry officials."

"Eight."

"Done." With a small, triumphant smile, Pansy rose from her seat. "Is there anything else, Auror Weasley?"

Gritting his teeth, Ron stood and crossed around the desk to the door. His hand was on the knob when he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder to look at her. Even if he was letting her walk away, he _had_ to know.

"Why, Pansy?"

Her gaze dropped to the hem of her gown, and her lips were parted as she took one breath, two, then looked back up. There was a steely determination behind those blue orbs, but there was also something else there, something Ron had never seen before.

Grief.

"Ten years ago, I watched that bastard murder my father," she said quietly. "This is no less than what he deserves."

"Pansy…" he trailed off and shook his head. There was no need to try and reason with her. What was done was done, and it was over now.

She stepped closer to him and reached up to cup his face. Her gaze was soft on his as she leaned in and pressed her lips against his one final time, pulling away when she felt him kiss her back.

"Goodbye, Ronald," she whispered before she opened the door and swept out of his life.

Ron stood there, staring into space for a good five minutes before the sound of someone clearing their throat caught his attention. Head snapping up, he saw Natalie waiting in front of him, one blonde brow arched in question.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I was asking if you wanted me to bring in Mr. Montague for questioning," his trainee said slowly, the look on her face clearly questioning his mental health.

He shook his head and turned back to gather his papers. "No."

"No?" Natalie echoed. "Are you sure?"

Ron sighed and nodded. "Thank Ms. Greengrass for her cooperation, and let the guests know they're free to go." His voice trailed off when his gaze fell on the bloody knife, and a long, silent minute passed before he said, "We have our murderer already."


End file.
